


I Don't Believe In Peter Pan

by justanotherStonyfan



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Getting Together, Kinda, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Steve isn't actually a slut, Tony just likes the idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's not having nightmares, he's having sex dreams. Which are worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Believe In Peter Pan

**Author's Note:**

> My first smut in this fandom! Yaaay!

_Tony hears what's going on before he sees it, and he thinks his mind is filling in the blanks but he's wrong. He thinks his little genius brain can imagine what's happening, but that's not true and he's never been so wrong in his life._

_To start with, he doesn't recognise Steve's voice, or the sounds he's making with it. Steve gives orders like a Captain and speaks softly like a gentleman, and even when he raises his voice he doesn't sound like what Tony's hearing right now. He's heard Steve in pain, too – ranging from the slight headache from being knocked aside by a stray repulsor blast to the barely-restrained gasps he gives when he's trying to suppress the agony of being thrown sixty feet into a car – and what Tony's hearing now is not a man in pain, and it's not somebody exercising restraint, either._

_So when he rounds the corner to stick his head around the doorframe and find out where the rhythmic_ “Ah! Ah! Ah!” _sounds are coming from, Tony sure as hell isn't expecting the source of it to be Steve, and he's even less prepared for why._

_His eyes widen as he takes in the unbelievable display he walks in on, and it's something that's going to stay with him the rest of his life, every time he closes his eyes._

_To begin with, all the lights are on in here and there's a duvet on the living room floor, right in front of the entertainment system – which, by the way, Tony will most likely never need again – spread out to make a soft surface for kneeling on, and sitting on, and lying on apparently._

_Because, right in the middle of it, Steve is naked and getting well and truly nailed by Thor, just about managing to support himself on his hands and knees while Thor kneels behind him and thrusts like he's trying to break Steve's spine. And Steve loves every second of it, Tony can see that beyond a shadow of a doubt. His head and his tags hang down, the tags swinging as he moves, and his sweaty hair slips forward, and his hands are braced on the floor, and there's that fantastic_ “Ah! Ah! Ah!” _he's moaning into air that already smells of sex, and Tony wonders just how long this had been going on before he walked in._

_Even as Tony watches, Steve lifts one hand and reaches back. Thor's got a death-grip on Steve's hips and they'll bruise, there's no chance they won't when Thor's grip is that tight, but Steve reaches back with one hand to cover one of Thor's hands, tipping his head back and God, he's beautiful that way. His skin is shining with sweat, literally glistening and his lips are swollen like he's been kissing for hours, parted like he can't breathe, a flush that's so deep he looks like he has a fever burning high on his cheekbones._

_And it makes sense that it's Thor; if that's the kind of sex Steve wants, Thor's the only one likely to be able to give it to him._

_And it's not like they're alone, either. As soon as Steve reaches back, as soon as Steve's hand covers Thor's, Thor lets go with his other hand and hooks his arm around Steve's waist, pulling him back onto his knees to make him do the work instead, tags clattering against Steve's chest over, and over, and over with a noise that rings in Tony's ears. And Bruce is on Steve in an instant, shuffling in front of him to bend low and-_

_The cry Steve gives when Bruce wraps his lips around his achingly red cock is sharp and loud and his eyes squeeze shut as his free hand curls into a fist. He might have reached down to wind his fingers in Bruce's hair a second later if Natasha didn't take the opportunity to duck under his arm and kiss him like she needs him to breathe, and he moans into her mouth, low and rough and she keeps up with him as he uses his knees as leverage over Thor._

_Thor pulls him back a little, so Steve's back is pressed against his chest, and Steve tips his head back against Thor's shoulder instead, not that Clint seems to mind. He comes up behind them and attacks Steve's throat and chest with his teeth and his tongue while Natasha kisses Steve from the other side, and he's still moaning into her mouth._

_Bruce pulls off with as lewd a pop as Tony's ever heard and replaces his mouth with his fist, hard and fast enough that it's almost a blur, with his fingers so tight they're white at the knuckles, and Steve's back bows outwards, the light catching every damned muscle in his torso as his free hand finds its way to Natasha's head, and he's still making so much noise._

_He looks more helpless and more strong at the same time than Tony can ever remember seeing him before and it's easy to stand there and watch them all on him, watch Steve play the center of attention because who wouldn't want Steve in the middle of an orgy?_

_They all know he's there, he knows they know because Bruce spares him a glance and sits back to let him see, slows his hand so Tony can watch, and Tony sees the muscles in Steve's stomach tighten as Clint sits back a little to afford him a better view._

_Natasha turns her head, without even opening her eyes, so that Tony can see more of Steve's face than her own, and Thor stills Steve on the next up thrust with a hand under his thigh so that he can move his own hips instead, control what Steve gets for as long as it takes for Steve's legs to give out._

_Natasha pulls away, Tony hears Steve speak before he looks up at his face to see._

“God,” _he gasps._

_And Steve is smiling at Natasha, the tip of his tongue against his teeth as he chuckles. Their little conspiracy doesn't last long, Steve's chuckle cut off by a moan that's out of sequence – rasping up from the back of his throat like he doesn't have the energy to scream._

“Please,” _he whispers, and Tony's never heard anything as dirty as that, never seen anything as incredible as this and why the hell wasn't he invited to this party?_ “Please!” _Steve says again, and Tony looks at his face to find Steve staring right at him, head on one side on Thor's shoulder._

“I'm...please, Tony?” _he whispers, and they're all watching him, all waiting._

_Slowly, dumbly, Tony nods – has some idea what Steve's asking but isn't sure, and the relief that washes over Steve a moment later tells him he's right._

_And then Steve's body tenses, convulses, back arching as his head tips back and he looks like he should snap from the way his body twists, and then he can't breathe, he can't cry out and it leaves the room in an odd kind of pseudo-silence until Steve makes a noise Tony's never heard him make before – a loud, helpless moan of pleasure that sounds like it's so good he can't cope, and then- -_

Tony's staring at complete blackness with his chest heaving and his hair in his eyes and he can feel the sweat on his body, wet and sticky, and it's only when he moves that he realizes he's in his own bed, by himself, staring at the ceiling. He's also painfully hard, to the point that the idea of moving to the bathroom to finish himself is physically impossible, and he winces as he kicks back the covers. 

He shoves the waistband of his pajama pants down just far enough, and then it's two strokes and he's coming all over his fingers and his stomach and apparently his chest, too, with Steve's name on his lips, orgasm tearing out of him so fast he's seeing stars. And isn't that appropriate?

And he stares at the ceiling while his body cools down, aware he's going to need a shower by the time he decides to get up. There's no way he's sleeping after that – adrenalin's running high, blood's pumping fast and every time he shuts his eyes, he can see golden skin and white knuckles and parted lips – _God, his lips_ – and the long line of Steve's throat stretching up to the light above him.

So he's hard again by the time his stomach's itching – he knew he should have cleaned up but he didn't and now he at least has an excuse for a shower.

He's not kidding himself, either, when he pads to the bathroom and asks J.A.R.V.I.S to turn the temperature down. He knows he's only taking the shower so he won't have to clean up the next time, either, because he's fully aware of the fact that he's going to jerk off again just as soon as he can get it up. 

He can't help it, he tries to think of anything except Steve naked in the middle of the room, naked in the middle of the _freaking Avengers,_ but he can't. All the Avengers, except him, and how is that fair? It's his dream and he doesn't even get a starring role – doesn't even get a _useful_ role. Except for....wow, telling Steve he's allowed to orgasm, and if that isn't fuel for Tony's fire, he doesn't know what is.

But he wants to see more, he wouldn't have minded staying asleep because he didn't even get to see Steve come and that was the point but maybe that's why he woke up, maybe it's something even Tony's imagination can't deal with. He wouldn't be surprised.

Steve's gorgeous – Tony isn't denying that, but thankfully nobody's asked him about it. If they did, he probably wouldn't be able to fake disinterest. Negative instruction or something – _don't think of a naked Steve Rogers_ and there he'd be with a hard-on and no way to hide it.

And it's not his fault, it's not. He's always been attracted to beauty – that's how his mind and his body works. The sleek lines of a fast car, the fitted plates of the Iron Man suit, the long curves of a good-looking woman, the hard muscles of a good-looking guy. There's no difference in Tony's book and it would be one hell of a lot easier to ignore if Steve fought his battles and exercised his body in clothes that normal people wear. It's not that his clothes don't fit him, it's that they fit him too well. As in, they fit him so well he may as well not be wearing any at all.

Those clothes are painted on him – especially the suit, damn Steve's suit. He moves so fluidly, so gracefully, with such strength and such power and every move he makes, Tony can see the muscles shift under his skin, can see in sharp relief every movement his body's making, and when Erskine was striving for the pinnacle of human perfection he damn well knew what he was doing.

Steve is it, flawless, gorgeous, and there's no way Tony can rid himself of the image his imagination's presented him with. It's not a leap to think of him naked – the only thing Tony's really imagining is Steve's cock, and that's...well, the suit's designed to afford Steve modesty, and support. And there's probably reinforcement there, too, 'cause the last thing the Avengers need is Captain America immobilised by an errant nut-shot. 

But Tony imagined it anyway – thick and long and cut and red, curving upwards just slightly, and it makes his mouth water where he's standing under the spray of the shower. Next time he'll work on turning the dream to his advantage – to _more_ of one – because Tony imagines Steve's cock like a work of art and he'd quite like a closer look. He knows how to control a dream, he'll get on his knees if he can swing it.

Actually, if he's in charge, he'll gladly be the other half to whatever Steve happens to be doing. It'd be nice to take Thor's place, sure. If he's dreaming then it's his show – he can give it that kind of strength. Not that he'd mind Steve taking Thor's place with him, though. If he's got a choice of pitching or catching with Captain Steve Rogers, he cares exactly _not at all._

He ends up kneeling on the floor of his shower, two fingers inside himself, forehead pressed against the tile while he jacks off, nice and slow, to the same rhythm of the imaginary moans that still echo in his mind.

Sure as hell beats the nightmares anyway.

~

Coffee is awkward as hell, but he doesn't have a choice because he can't sleep. And he won't really be awake either if he doesn't have coffee. 

Tony was really hoping that a six-in-the-morning cup would afford him the dignity of having nobody around to see him, and he walks into the kitchen in full confidence that he'll be alone when he does.

Except Steve's there – dressed and showered and halfway through what looks like a main meal, instead of breakfast, the frying pan and saucepan and various spatulas and ladles sitting in the sink.

“Hey,” he says quietly, looking up to make eye-contact and Tony's whole body goes tight, all the blood rushing downwards, and he shuffles past where Steve is sitting just in case his response is noticeable through his loose pajama pants.

“Uh, hi,” he says, and his voice is rough from sleep and he knows his hair is a mess and why does he never get to see Steve in disarray like this?

“Y'okay?” Steve asks. “You're up awful early.”

“I'm fine,” he says, as dismissively as he can manage, and he pours himself a cup of coffee from the machine. 

“You hungry?” Steve says. “I can make food.”

Tony is hungry, he's ravenously hungry, to the point that he wants everything. He's so hungry he wants a new car, he's so hungry he wants to remodel the living room, he's so hungry he wants to push everything off the table and get Steve to-

“No,” he says, and his stomach growls just to piss him off.

Steve raises an eyebrow – how does he make that look so effortless? - and Tony just rolls his eyes. 

“I got a bad stomach, so no, I'm not eating.”

Steve nods, outline of his dog tags visible under his shirt to bring up the echo of their clinking in the back of Tony's mind, and Tony takes his coffee and goes away. He's going to go to the workshop and make something, repair something, do anything but it's six o'clock in the morning and Steve was sitting in his kitchen with a skintight white shirt on and his hair combed perfectly and, each time Tony blinks, he can see Steve naked on all fours with his body dripping sweat and his eyes closed, head back, that beautiful _“Ah! Ah! Ah!”_ ringing in his ears.

***

_“You were made to submit,” Loki says, running long fingers under the chain around Steve's neck, and Tony's dimly aware that he must be dreaming because, for a start, it's 'made to be ruled,' not that he's arguing._

_He must also be dreaming because Steve's naked again, under a spotlight of all things – one that's a circle of light in an infinity of pitch blackness, and Loki stalks around him as though this were normal, as though this were the usual thing to do._

_“Everything they made you into was made to submit – to follow orders, give yourself to someone other than yourself. And I've always wanted you to kneel,” Loki says and oh yeah, that's right, so he has._

_That mess in Germany, Tony heard it over the comm-link on his way in, Loki said kneel and Cap, Steve being Steve, had said no. Actually, he said “not today” but that was then and this is now and here he is today, kneeling in a spotlight with his-_

_Tony swallows hard before he lets himself finish that thought._

_With his hands cuffed together in front of him._

_The cuffs are gold – shimmering, as though they were liquid, and Tony's half amused that his brain has provided a solution to the concept of Steve being able to break most things; the cuffs are magic, problem solved - and they're clasped in his lap so they cover him for now, but then Lokis's tucking long fingers under Steve's chin, tilting his head face up and Tony breathes out a “wow” because damn, Steve's been beaten. Not badly, not at all badly, the serum's already taking care of it. But that means that there's a bruise along his jaw, a cut by his right eye, one in the center of his lower lip and Tony doesn't want Steve in pain._

_Tony doesn't want to see Steve hurt but the way he looks when he's healing...To begin with, Steve injured is Steve being a hero, Steve healing is Steve alive, and the marks on his body make him look so strong, so resilient – defiant even though he's kneeling naked in front of a demigod._

_“You really are a specimen of perfection, aren't you, Captain? What I have given just to have this chance to taste you.”_

_Steve says nothing, mouth closed, eyes glazed – he's looking past Loki on purpose, because Loki wants him to acknowledge the fact that he's helpless and Steve won't give him the satisfaction._

_“There's so much I want from you, and I'm in a position that's highly conducive to getting it,” Loki says._

_Steve still says nothing, and Loki strokes his thumb along Steve's blue-tinged cheekbone._

_“Would you enjoy that?”_

_“Rogers, Steven G.,” Steve answers, eyes gazing past Loki, “rank, Captain, serial number-”_

_Loki backhands him in the mouth and sends Steve's head snapping sideways with a grunt of pain. Loki uses his right hand and sends Steve's head left, and that means Tony gets to see the look on Steve's face – determination, resignation, eyebrows drawn together as crimson stains the teeth Steve bares when he grimaces. But he turns his head back again a moment later._

_“I don't need you to do as I ask,” Loki says, stepping closer, and something in the pit of Tony's stomach twists._

_Sure, Loki's a good-looking guy but Tony didn't realize how easy it would be to watch this._

_“But it would be best that you obey me,” he continues. “Especially given your...inexperience.”_

_“Rogers,” Steve answers, “Steven-”_

_This time, Loki lunges, hand around Steve's throat and Steve doesn't move. Tony can see, instantly, that his lungs are fighting, but he doesn't move._

_“You are unbearably beautiful,” Loki whispers in awe, searching Steve's face with his eyes. “And I have so been looking forward to finding out what that pretty mouth of yours can do.”_

_Steve's jaw gets a little tighter, but he doesn't answer, and Tony can see a vein in his forehead beginning to protrude._

_Loki lets go – obviously no point damaging the merchandise, especially when it's such good-looking merchandise – and Steve hangs his head again. Tony can tell he's trying not to gasp, to cough, but Tony can also see his shoulders working, the muscles in his back moving. Tony knows he shouldn't find the small splutter Steve gives a moment or two later as attractive as he does, but apparently Loki likes it too._

_“Enjoy that, Captain, you won't be breathing for a while.”_

_Tony's eyes go wide. Does he really mean what Tony's pretty sure he really means? And...yeah, apparently. Tony's not sure he knows how Loki would do this if he were awake and in the real world because the tunic...thing he wears would probably be restrictive. But it doesn't matter because, for the purposes of his dream, courtesy of his imagination, Loki's robe just parts at the front._

_Steve looks at him, looks up at him and then back at where Loki's hands part the robe for him, and there's something interesting playing across Steve's face before his cheeks flush a little and he turns his head away._

_“You refuse?” Loki asks, and Steve looks up at him, glances back down and looks up again._

_“I refuse,” he answers, but his voice is rough, he wets his lips and his fingers curl in his lap._

_Tony's pretty sure the refusal is for show, he really hopes it is because otherwise this fantasy would be over pretty quickly – he wants to watch, but he wants Steve happy, willing while still of sound mind and body. If Steve isn't willing then Tony's fully prepared to try and break out of whatever invisible dream-box he's standing in and run to rescue Steve. But, as luck would have it, it appears Loki notices Steve's apparently-for-show refusal._

_“If you refuse,” he says, giving Steve a reason, providing Steve with a way to comply without losing face, “then perhaps one of your other...Avengers...would accept?”_

_Steve closes his eyes, already breathing a little harder, drawing his hands closer to his body – and is he hiding himself? Is that what's happening? Because Tony knows that if Steve were Loki, and he'd taken Steve's place on the floor himself, he wouldn't be able to hide his reaction either._

_“If I accept,” he says, looking back up at Loki with so much determination in his eyes, so much want that it's almost too much to look at, “then what?”_

_And there's hope in that question, this is definitely something he wants, something he's looking for any excuse to take. Loki leans down, strokes Steve's hair out of his eyes before running his fingertips down the side of Steve's face, holding his hand under Steve's chin._

_“Then I let them go,” he says, and Steve looks back at the front of Loki's robe and the flesh he's bared, eyes heavy-lidded and dark._

_Yeah, Steve wants this just as much as Loki does, which is a relief to Tony in a way he can't quite get his head around._

_And now Tony's subconscious has provided another solution to another problem, patching up plot-holes as it goes along, and he's more than a little smug about it. And now he knows what's going on, he can see the minute tells between Steve and Loki that would have shown him how in tune they are if he hadn't been so engrossed by the situation to begin with, and then so grossed out by Steve's potential lack of consent. But Steve's consent is there when he leans minutely into Loki's hand, Loki's understanding is there when his expression softens just a little as Steve closes his eyes, their mutual desire for this coming to the forefront when Loki waits for Steve to open his mouth and look up before he eases his hips forward and-_

_“Oh, yes, Captain,” he breathes, head falling back, eyes closed, and Steve closes his eyes, too as Loki's long, elegant fingers curl in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Oh, you are talented.”_

_And apparently watching a demigod get head is a fantasy for Tony stark. Or, more accurately, Steve giving a demigod head is a fantasy, because Tony knows the tight heat in his stomach, knows the tension in his limbs and the aching want between his legs, God, Steve is beautiful like that._

_Cheeks hollowed, eyes closed, lips stretched tight around hard flesh and Tony wants Steve's mouth, he wants to know how that feels, wants to know what it's like to look down – and Loki looks down – and see Steve looking back at him – and Steve looks up at Loki._

_Loki's fingers curl in Steve's hair, and Tony can see Loki's knuckles whiten a little before he's pulling the blond strands, making Steve draw his head back. Steve moans softly, swallowing a little around the head, and Loki flattens his hand against Steve's skull to push him forward again, nice and slow until Steve's nose is pressed against the skin of Loki's lower stomach._

_Steve's working hard not to choke, struggling, and he's close, really close, but Loki pulls his hair again and Steve starts to move his head in a rhythm that almost hurts Tony it looks so good. Tony can see Steve's whole body working towards it, see him shifting his weight on his legs every time, muscles in his back working to move his neck, working to move his head and Loki's watching Steve because who the hell wouldn't watch Steve at a time like this?_

_Loki moans, brow furrowing, and Steve shakes his head a little before he resumes his rhythm, drawing back to suck at the head of his own accord, because he wants to, and Loki tenses, body bowing just a little._

_“That's it, Captain,” he says softly. “That's it.”_

_And Steve knows what he's doing. Tony can see as much – this Steve isn't inexperienced or inhibited, this Steve can give the way Tony imagines, this Steve looks good and knows it, is beautiful and enjoys it, and isn't ashamed of behaving the way Tony wants him to._

_“I think,” Loki manages to gasp out, “such dedication ought be rewarded.”_

_And there's a shimmer of light next to Loki, a blue/gold warp in Tony's vision, and then another Loki stands beside the one Steve's sucking off. And Tony wonders how this is going to work, what the second Loki might want from Steve, but Steve's eyes flicker open and he moans when he spots the newer Loki, breathing harder still. Steve doesn't know why he's there either but he's obviously looking forward to finding out._

_It doesn't take long, the New Loki is as unlikely to delay any of this as the original and...Tony doesn't know if Loki's trick projections can interact with the physical world in reality. But they obviously can in his dream._

_New Loki kneels down behind Steve, kissing the backs of his shoulders, the side of his neck, strokes the side of Steve's ribcage, and Steve's still bobbing his head, still working hard to give the original Loki what he wants. And then, suddenly enough that Tony's surprised, Steve lets go, head back with a shocked noise he can only half-swallow, and then he's gasping._

_Original Loki chuckles._

_“Better?” he says, and Steve just moans at him, mouth falling open._

_Tony frowns – he can't see what's going on, and he takes one step, or two, maybe three and then he sees. Steve's head is back and his eyebrows are drawn together and he's shaking while Original Loki stands still, waiting for Steve to come back to himself._

_Because New Loki has two fingers inside of him._

_Original Loki trails his fingertips down Steve's throat._

_“Show me your gratitude,” he says, and Steve gasps as the movements of New Loki's fingers get a little faster._

_Steve grits his teeth but it doesn't stop the next moan, and Tony is certain Steve will never thank Loki for this, no matter how much he wants it._

_At least, not with words._

_Steve's head falls forward again, a soft jingle of metal as his tags stick in the sweat on his chest and then fall to the end of the chain, and he sounds exhausted. Tony can't blame him. But then his mouth is back on Loki and Loki's calling out with some curse Tony doesn't recognize – Asgardian Shakespearean nonsense – and Steve's hand, his hands still cuffed together, is moving up and down in his lap, matching New Loki's speed stroke for stroke, Original Loki's hand in Steve's hair to have some way to anchor himself as Steve moans._

_Steve's lower lip has split again, the barely-dry wound opening up, but he doesn't seem to care at all, a stripe of glittering red painting his chin and smearing across his lip, over Loki's skin, too, turning it pink. And it shouldn't be beautiful but it is because it's a sign of Steve's resilience, of Steve's determination, something that signals his ability to follow through no matter what and his desire to continue at the same time. Watching Steve disregard his own pain in favor of someone else's pleasure, or maybe just in favor of his own, is a turn-on Tony didn't even know he had._

_“Oh, Captain...Captain,” Original Loki says, his voice rising, rasping as it climbs, and Steve hums around him in agreement, knees sliding outwards as his hips move back to meet New Loki's fingers and-_

He's awake.

It's the first thing that occurs to Tony is that being awake means he's not asleep – who said he's not a genius? - and being not-asleep means he won't get to see the end of his own personal adult movie.

He shuts his eyes. It never works, but he shuts his eyes and tries to even his breathing and thinks of Steve, and Loki. And _Steve._ But it doesn't work. He hopes, he tries, he wants with everything he has but he's not going to fall asleep again any time soon. He probably wouldn't have the same dream even if he did but he's irritated by it, and kind of sad in a way. And definitely frustrated. 

He tries to move and hisses in pain because he thinks he's even harder this time than he was when he woke up last time. And he's going to wait it out this time. 

He refuses to think about this any more, and he's going to deal with it now, before it becomes habit, before he wakes up with a hard-on from dirty dreams about America's sweetheart on a regular basis. He thinks about circuit-boards and then stops because he actually likes circuit-boards. 

Paperwork. He thinks about paperwork, he hates that. Thinks about pointless hours spent scanning tiny black smallprint on a huge white page, black marks on white while he holds the pen, or pencil, marking the white like an artist on canvas – or in a sketchbook – or a mouth on skin – smooth, pale skin-

Okay, not paperwork. The cold, then, being naked in the snow but that doesn't work because Star Spangled Ice Cube. 

And it's like that with everything, everything he thinks of. If he thinks about fighting, he thinks about Steve in his uniform, if he thinks about SHIELD, he thinks about arguing with Steve and yeah, he likes that, getting Steve worked up, and if he thinks about _anything_ then he ends up thinking about Steve – from spanners to portals to skyscrapers to Chinese takeout.

“For the love of God,” he mutters, and he tries to move but _oh wow_ his erection is sensitive and how the hell long has he been lying in bed with it scraping against the inside of his pajama pants. 

It really does feel like scraping.

He doesn't bother with a shower this time – he had one before bed and he's got tissues in the nightstand so he uses those and washes, and then he gets dressed. Because it's almost six-thirty and, with any luck, Steve will be out on a run or a walk or a save-the-world by now, and Tony thinks a walk will do him good. 

~

The difference between Tony Stark and most other people is that, well, Tony's rich. Actually, rich is a bit of an understatement – he's seen all the Wall Street nonsense and, frankly, being in the one percent doesn't actually apply to Tony. Because Tony Stark is so rich that there's nobody else up there with him – not really. He's more like one in seven billion, and that technically makes him the _1.4275714 to the power of minus 10_ percent, but there's nobody who'd understand that except Bruce and it's all beside the point anyway. 

Basically, he doesn't have to go outside to go for a walk. He can go to the soundproofed gym and get on a treadmill and then he can walk for miles in a temperature he's set with whatever music he pleases playing as loudly as he likes and a bathroom and refrigerator still within a comfortable distance.

Because he's Tony Stark. 

The biggest problem he seems to have at the moment arises when he's two miles into something that's more of a power-walk than a jog and Steve comes in. 

Steve winces at the music that blasts him in the face as soon as he opens the door and Tony rolls his eyes.

“Mute it, J.,” he says, and J.A.R.V.I.S does. 

Steve has the good grace to look sheepish but Tony barely notices that.

“Hi,” he says, and he's obviously been out for a run already because his chest his rising and falling a little to fast, his shirt is like a second skin because it's saturated with the same sweat that slides in beads down Steve's temple, his cheek, his throat, _God, his throat,_ and sticks his hair to his forehead. 

Tony blinks and belatedly realizes he hasn't answered.

“Hi,” he says, and Steve frowns a little, like he hadn't expected Tony to answer at all.

And, fair enough, Tony usually doesn't. But Steve's right there, gasping for breath, sweat making him shine and Tony will not think about it while he's standing on a treadmill. He doesn't need a hard-on while he's trying to jog. Or power-walk. Whatever. 

“Music at half,” he says, tearing his gaze away from Steve – who's looking at him like he's annoyed again and why? Tony hasn't done anything! - to keep on power-walking, to concentrate on anything that isn't Steve.

Steve's going for the punching bag, which is fair enough, Tony supposes. Not that he'd ever go out for a run and then come back in for more exercise _himself,_ but Steve is a super-soldier and all that jazz. 

And if he's watching Steve's shoulders and his back and his, yeah okay, ass when Steve's beating the living daylights out of a punching bag – one that looks years old and was actually fresh on the hook last night – then that's not his fault. It's Steve's fault for being a perfect physical being, for having long, hard, smooth muscles that ripple when he moves, hands that curl into golden fists under white tape and drive forward over and over and over with strength and precision Tony can only be jealous of out of the Iron Man suit. It's Steve's fault for being beautiful and Tony deliberately does not look when Steve glances at him, turning his head away with a split second to spare every time.

And he's doing well at not watching Steve until Steve walks away from the punching bag. Thing looks like it's about to split but it's not the punching bag that caught Tony's attention – it was the movement out of the corner of his eye that signaled Steve moving across the gym.

Tony stumbles because he's too busy watching Steve grab a water-bottle from the small refrigerator Tony keeps in the corner. He feels like an idiot but he's grateful he didn't actually fall because that would just be too embarrassing. 

He keeps one eye on Steve when Steve downs the first bottle – he's staring at Steve's back so it's not really an issue. 

But then Steve turns around after grabbing a second one, and he unscrews the cap, tilts his head back and _oh, damn_ downs the bottle like it's nothing, throat working hard as he drinks in long, hard gulps, sweat glittering on his skin, eyes closed, lips against the head-- _the neck_ of the bottle, and there wasn't even really any need for the Freudian slip, Tony realizes, because he already knows what it looks like Steve's doing to that bottle.

_Show me your gratitude._

“Ow, Jesus!”

Tony's in a heap on the floor by the time he realizes he's tripped on the treadmill and been thrown backwards off it. J.A.R.V.I.S stops the machine and the music instantly, and Steve crosses the room in three big strides and tries to help him stand, pretty much just lifting Tony bodily onto his feet. 

“Y'okay?” Steve asks.

Tony doesn't look at him, face burning, furious at himself for his stupidity and at Steve for. _..being Steve._ It's a poor excuse but he'll take it and he wrenches his arm out of Steve's grasp before the strength in Steve's fingers and the heat in Steve's skin makes Tony's train of thought all too obvious.

“I'm _swell,_ ” he bites back, because it's an old word and he's heard Steve use it, and he resists the urge to rub his hand over the tingling on his arm where Steve took hold. 

Steve takes a step back at his hostility anyway, and then he turns around to go get a third bottle of water.

Tony doesn't stay to watch him drink it.

***

The first time, obviously, was brilliant. Tony really liked that first dream, and the second one looked nice even though he was kind of surprised to be dreaming about Steve again, more so with Loki. 

But after two weeks, Tony's pretty much a zombie. And, for once, it's not his fault. At least, he reasons, it's not his fault in any way he can avoid.

He keeps dreaming of Steve, waking up early, and he's noticed a pattern because the subject matter does actually depend on the day he's had.

The day they stop a chemical spillage in Hoboken and Steve gets clipped by falling masonry, it's Natasha who reaches him first. And she checks his eyes on the way back to base, rubs her fingertips in circles on his temples to ease his headache because she and Steve have come to be great friends. Which would by why Tony dreams of her _teaching Steve to love_ that night, pulling him over her and teaching Steve how to touch a woman's body the right way, holding him close and whispering to him while she clings to him and he clings to her.

The day they keep a small series of fighter drones out of Coney Island airspace, Steve gets thrown off a roof and Thor grabs him at the last second and hauls him back, slapping Steve on the back with a grin once his feet are firmly set on solid concrete again while his eyes show his relief. Which would be why Tony sees Thor pinning Steve to a wall, hitching Steve's legs up around his waist to set a rhythm that's hard even though it's not fast, Steve's military haircut clinging to the plaster, his hands fisted in long, golden hair while Thor kisses his throat and they lose themselves together.

The day they almost lose Clint when he runs out of arrows, and Steve gets between Clint and the bad guys and lets his shield take the shots, lets his body take the blows, keeps them off Clint for long enough that Clint can go get his arrows back and take them out, is the night Tony dreams of Steve, exhausted and in pain in the kitchen, barely able to stand, bruised and aching, and ambushed by Clint who'll never be able to convey his gratitude but does a damn good job of getting on his knees to try.

The day the Hulk takes the brunt of the enemy's retaliation, that's the night Tony dreams of them together, Steve and Bruce spooning nice and slow in Bruce's bed while Steve whispers how glad he is Bruce is still here, how thankful he is that Bruce is okay, one arm around Bruce's waist to keep him close, turning Bruce's head back to kiss him hard enough that Bruce's glasses end up at a funny angle. 

But the days Tony interacts with him, the days Captain America saves Iron Man, or Tony Stark argues with Steve Rogers, or Iron Man covers Steve Rogers, or Captain America's close-call is foiled by Tony Stark, every time Tony is a part of Steve's day, Steve's life, the dream rules do not apply. 

Because he has so many dreams about Steve. Steve with the other Avengers – either together or apart – or Steve with people they know, or Steve with Loki or with Doom or the Silver Surfer (and where did that even come from? That was _years_ ago, and nothing to do with Steve but a really nice image nonetheless), or Steve by himself, or, God help poor Tony, Steve with J.A.R.V.I.S and the Mk VII (which is such a hot image that Tony goes downstairs that night to the workshop to sit in front of the suit and jerk off just because he'll settle for half the visual).

But it doesn't matter how many dreams he has about Steve, how many different situations from the depths of Tony's mind that Steve ends up in during his dreams, there are two major points that Tony notices, two major points that are the real reason he's ready to drop after two weeks:

The first is that Steve never finishes, Tony never gets to see that. Doesn't matter how long the dream is, how much dream-Steve is enjoying himself, just how fast or how slow the rest of the dream is going, he never sees Steve trying to breathe through an orgasm, never gets to watch his expression change, never gets to watch his body respond. Steve never finishes when Tony's watching. And Tony wakes up at stupid o'clock in the morning with a hard-on so painful it's difficult to move.

But the second thing is that Tony dreams of everyone with Steve. Everyone except himself. No matter who Steve is with, what they're doing, where they are or why Tony's brain has chosen any particular pair/trio/quartet-or-more of people, Tony does not get to star in the dreams about Steve.

And that's starting to make life very difficult.

***

_It's slow and dark and Tony doesn't care at all. Steve has to know he's there, Steve is looking straight at him, but this can't be real because Steve would never stick around if it were._

_He's lying on his bed – the bed that Tony bought in the tower that Tony built, on the floor Tony designed to fit him, and damn everything, he's naked._

No, he's dreaming, this isn't real and he should wake up now before it gets too much for him, before he wakes up later in a way that makes the whole rest of the day difficult.

_“Tony,” Steve says softly, one huge hand wrapped around his cock while he strokes slowly, his other arm up by his head, sinking into the covers and the pillows in a way that makes it look like he's orchestrated this whole thing._

_The tip of Steve's cock is glistening and Tony can almost taste it if he thinks about it hard enough._

_“Tony, please,” Steve murmurs, and Tony would like nothing better than to join him but he tries to take a step and the world doesn't move around him._

_He takes two more and nothing happens, he's still exactly where he was before, can't even look down to see his feet. It's like he's a camera embedded in the wall and no amount of coaxing from Steve – or urging with willpower – will let him move._

_He pulls against nothing, doesn't feel anything holding him back but the world spins like he's fallen and when it stops, he's still looking at the same thing, from the same height and the same distance. He hasn't moved._

_“I want you,” Steve says, “I want you, Tony, please.”_

_And everybody calls him that, everybody calls him 'Tony' but it rolls of Steve's tongue like it was made for it and Tony's transfixed when that tongue slides out to run along Steve's lower lip._

_Steve's tags glitter on his chest, catch the light with every hitched breath Steve draws and he smiles, blindly beautiful, eyes half closed with a flush creeping down his chest. He bites his lower lip for a moment, arching his back just a little, and the movement of his hand gets a little faster, his fingers get a little tighter as he moans softly._

_“Tony...” he breathes, head tipping back as his expression changes from pleasured to almost pained, so fantastically almost pained, and Tony knows how that feels, wants to feel it himself._

_“I can't!” he says, and – miracle of miracle, for the first time since these dreams began, Steve_ hears him.

_Steve's head snaps up, his hand stilling, and he stares,_ right at where Tony is.

_“Tony?” he whispers, like he's only just noticed Tony's there._

You should still wake up. You should wake up now before this gets any worse, before you wake up in five minutes and can't move-

_“Why didn't you ever tell me?” Steve whispers._

_And Tony might not be able to feel the reality around him but he feels his jaw drop._

_“You can...” he says, and then he has to wet his non-existent lips to try again. “You can see me?”_

_Steve looks at him almost affectionately then, shifting a little on the bed. And then he moves, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to stand and the way he walks is positively predatory._

_“Why didn't you ever tell me?” he says again, coming to stand so close that Tony can feel the heat of Steve's breath on his face._

_“You can see me,” Tony says again, because this is a whole lot better, this could be amazing, he's finally, finally got what he wants out of this and, oh, this is going to be so good. If he can get out of the wall._

_Steve smiles a little and leans forward until Tony can only see the side of his head._

_“Let's see what else I can do,” he murmurs against Tony's ear, Tony can feel the warmth of Steve's breath, and then he's pulling back, sinking onto his knees and Tony can watch him, can look down and see him._

_And Steve looks up at him, runs his tongue over his lips again, opens his mouth, leans forward and-_

The noise Tony makes is barely human and he only recognises what's happened once he can breathe past the white light that's blinding him.

And once the aftershocks of his orgasm have finished washing over him so intensely it feels like he's pinned to his mattress, he blinks. And then,

“God _dammit_!” Tony says into the blackness of the bedroom, slamming his fist against his headboard in irritation. “What the hell?” 

He's still breathing hard, sweating harder and he really didn't want another dream like this, even though what he wants is a dream exactly like this every night for the rest of his life.

He doesn't bother with the bedclothes, or his pajamas. He could so care less right now – he was so close, Steve was _right there_ and then, like always, _just_ when it was about to all go his way, he wakes up.

“Dammit,” he hisses. 

He'll deal with the pajamas and the bedclothes in the morning. Right now, he just gets up, sheds his clothes, takes a shower and then collapses in a heap on top of his bedclothes when he's done, letting the dawn come up around him while he tries not to think about the only thing he can see.

***

It takes longer than it should take to calm down, and he doesn't go to the kitchen, _or_ the gym, he just goes straight down to his workshop. 

And it's not half an hour after that when Steve comes knocking.

“Oh for the love of...” Tony mutters to himself. “J.A.R.V.I.S, make him leave!” 

It's about as venomous as he can manage and he catches Steve's reflection in a piece of glass across the room that's going to be a coffee table when Tony doesn't have more important things to do, so at least he doesn't have to turn around to see.

Except he can't stop himself when he sees what Steve's wearing.

Steve looks fairly normal to begin with, clean cut and standing straight, but he's evidently been out doing something for SHIELD because he's wearing his old olive colored uniform and Tony's knees weaken as all the blood rushes downwards, and he just _stares_ at Captain Rogers as his mouth goes dry.

Steve's expression is as neutral as it ever gets over the I'm-such-a-patriot-you-might-puke face he usually wears and, for a moment, Tony wants to let him in. But Steve wants to talk, not strip, and Tony's not in the mood, so he narrows his eyes at the reflection and wills him to go away.

Steve doesn't. 

J.A.R.V.I.S is obviously telling him to leave because Steve shakes his head and points at the workshop door, saying something, the pins on his lapels glinting as he moves.

“ _Sir, Captain Rogers insists he be permitted to speak with you._ ”

“Tell him to go to hell,” Tony answers, stripping a wire with his teeth.

He can still see Steve's reflection, so he gets to see Steve lift his head, jaw jutting out defiantly as he puts his shoulders back, takes a deep breath. His fists clench for a moment, though, _like they did in Thor's hair,_ and Tony shuts his eyes, shakes his head and looks away. 

He picks up the soldering iron and he's about to start soldering when the reflection's movement catches his eye. 

Steve, in his reflection, runs one hand through his hair, leaving it looking less than spotless _more like it was when he was on all fours in the living room_ and Tony grits his teeth. Steve is _gorgeous,_ nothing short of it, and he looks so good in that uniform. It makes Tony think all kinds of things he shouldn't – Steve standing still on parade despite any distractions, Steve giving orders and making sure they're followed, Steve taking orders whether he likes them or not, or basically Steve just doing one hell of a lot of things dressed like _that-_

_“Sir-”_

“J.A.R.V.I.S, I told you, _make_ him _leave._ ”

He slips up when he's touches the soldering iron to the metal because Steve, clever little ice-cube, notices his reflection, too. Of course, reflections work both ways, but Tony was really hoping he wouldn't notice.

Tony looks back over his shoulder again and waves him away with as unpleasant an expression as he can manage. 

“Go away!” he yells, not that Steve will hear him through the glass.

But Steve gets the gist anyway, and he shakes his head, pointing at the keypad.

“ _Let me in,_ ” is clearly visible when he moves his mouth again.

_And his lips are so red._

“No!” Tony yells, and Steve just folds his arms and raises an eyebrow, cocks his narrow hips and squares his wide shoulders and Tony doesn't _want_ to jerk off with Steve standing right there but it's not going to be a matter of choice soon, and then Steve can either leave or watch the show.

Steve says something else and Tony can't read his lips that time, but J.A.R.V.I.S fills in the blanks for him.

_“Captain Rogers insists that he will remain outside until such time as the door is opened or you leave the workshop.”_

“Well he'll be standing there a while,” Tony answers, and he goes back to his soldering. 

He can see, out of the corner of his eye, Steve's reflection trying to attract his attention. And he ignores it. He doesn't want to talk to Steve now.

~

If the difference between Tony Stark and other people is that Tony's got more money than anybody else, the difference between Steve Rogers and other people is that Steve Rogers has more determination. 

He doesn't leave. He gets tired or bored or something after a while and sits on the floor but he doesn't leave, and he's watching Tony. As though Tony couldn't feel Steve's eyes on him _all the time,_ he can see Steve out of the corner of his eye, watching Tony whenever he moves around. Tony finishes soldering and starts an upgrade on his repulsors. When he's done with that, he takes a look at the coding for some defensive thing SHIELD want. When he's satisfied with the coding, he moves on to holograms of the gym because Natasha wants some changes and he's trying to make the changes without upsetting anyone else.

And Steve is still on the floor.

So Tony ignores him. He makes coffee, listens to music, and Steve just puts his back up against the wall and waits. Tony starts manufacturing more arrows for Clint, turns up the heat a little on Natasha's bites, and Steve puts his head back against the wall and waits. Tony runs a couple of potential alloys through the system to test their potential and Steve...

Steve is asleep. 

And Tony stares at him for a good few minutes. He looks oddly vulnerable like that, not that it's a surprise, but Tony's never seen it before. Even half-concussed, Steve will still be weirdly focused, but seeing him like this is new. It hasn't taken long, probably because Steve is a soldier; he sleeps whenever he can, wherever he can, and a lack of anything to do signals a 'sleep' command somewhere in his brain. Tony's going to try and remember that because it might end up being useful.

But right now Tony just shakes his head, boy is Steve stubborn, and actually tidies his desk to have something to do, trying to run possible escape routes through his mind. The only problem is that there's one exit to the workshop, and Steve is sitting by it. And, even though Tony's pretty sure he can't sneak past him, this will be his best chance.

He makes a mental note to pull up the blueprints for the workshop next time he's down here, to work out where he can put a secret exit. Because, actually, only one exit is a major security risk, even if it's just a major inconvenience when the 'intruder' is Captain America. 

Tony walks to the door of the workshop and watches Steve. 

He doesn't wait long, he doesn't know how long sleep will last for Steve first thing in the morning on the hard floor of the corridor, but he waits, just to be sure.

When he's convinced himself and worked up the courage to try and get past Sleeping Beauty, he keys in his code, opens the door and tiptoes past Steve, avoiding Steve's legs to turn and walk away. He's about to break into a quiet-as-he-can-manage jog when something stops him, and he turns back with a frown on his face.

Had he really heard...?

He waits a few seconds, watching Steve, and there it is again – a small sound like Steve breathing out too heavily, and Steve's brow furrows.

Tony takes a step or two closer, just to get a better look at him and, as though he knows telepathically or something, Steve's turns his head away. But one hand is resting on his thigh and the fingers curl slightly, relax again, and then clench into a fist. 

Then there's that sound again, stronger this time, like a moan of pain and just for a second Tony thinks of how ironic it would be if Steve were having the same kinds of dreams as Tony. But he knows he's wrong a moment later – the moan Steve gives is loud enough that it makes Tony jump, and it slurs into a word Tony recognises.

_“No...”_

He scrapes his teeth over his lower lip. 

He could go. Steve's far enough under that he could leave right now and not look back and be out of this mess with Steve far behind him. Steve would wake up whenever he wakes up and find Tony gone. 

_“Please...”_ Steve moans, his hand shaking, and Tony can't do it.

Tony can't leave him here, like this, because he knows what this is like. He knows how it feels, how helpless you are inside the world in your head and he steps forward, leans down to touch Steve's shoulder.

“Steve-”

Before he can even yell, Steve's in his face and then shoving him backwards with a cry of anger, following him down when he stumbles, body over Tony's, pinning him to the floor with all his weight, breathing hard, eyes wild.

The back of Tony's skull hurts and his chest hurts and he's pretty sure he's winded because wow it feel weird to try and breathe, and he sees the ire bleed out of Steve's eyes a moment before Steve's fingers ease up on his wrists. And Tony hadn't even noticed his hands had been pinned it happened so fast.

“Ow,” he says, how eloquent, and Steve looks confused.

“Tony,” he says, more of a whisper. “Tony?”

And Tony tries to shift him, tries to move himself to get Steve off of him, and then stops because _oh, God, you have got to be kidding me._ Steve is over him, threw him backwards and followed him down like he was nothing, holds him against the floor like it's the easiest thing in the world, pinning Tony's wrists with his hands and Tony's body with his own, and Tony's hard as a rock. And if Steve moves _at all,_ he'll feel it.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Just me. You can get off now.”

No pun intended, but it still makes him remember the dreams and that's not helping his situation. But Steve doesn't seem to really understand and Tony's not sure he's entirely awake.

“Where did he go?” Steve asks dejectedly, and Tony shakes his head a little.

“Who?” he says.

And Steve takes a breath to speak, hesitates, does it again and then he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they're clearer.

“Tony?” he says again.

“Still me,” Tony answers, and then he enunciates very clearly. “You can get off of me now.”

Steve frowns, glances left and right at where his fingers are still wrapped around Tony's wrists, and he suddenly looks horrified. He'll look a lot more horrified if he looks down.

“Oh, my God,” he says, and then he's letting go, sitting back, and Tony rolls onto his side as though he's getting up, in order to hide himself. “Oh, my God, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Tony, I-”

“It's okay,” Tony says. “Really, I understand, happens to all of us.”

“Are you okay? Did I...Did I hurt you?”

“My head took a knock and my wrists are gonna hurt but I'm fine, Cap,” Tony says, turning back to indicate himself just to prove his point. “Don't get your panties in a-”

“Jeez,” Steve says, and Tony looks at him in confusion.

“What?” 

Steve isn't looking back at him – Steve is staring at his own hands and then at the floor, blushing. 

“Ah, you're, uh...I'm sorry, I...”

Tony frowns, and then he looks down and...oh yeah, still hard. Should have worn looser jeans because it's really obvious. He turns to look at Steve.

He runs his hand over his eyes.

“Look, you're good, right?” he says, and Steve nods, staring at the ceiling. 

“Tony,” he says.

“Then I'm gone,” Tony answers. 

And he gets up – boy is walking gonna be fun like this – and he's trying to walk away again when he snags on something. When he turns to look, it turns out the something is Steve.

“Tony...” he says softly, _Tony,_ and Tony grits his teeth.

He braces himself for it. Steve's either going to be irritated, which he doesn't look, or he'll pity Tony. And, to be quite frank, pity looks like the route he's chosen. 

“Save it, Cap,” Tony says. “I don't need to hear it.”

He pulls his wrist away and walks off, and Steve gets up to follow him, Tony can hear the footsteps. He speeds up a little but all the power-walking in the world won't let him beat a super-soldier, and Steve's by his side in a few seconds.

“Look, Tony, I-I need to talk to you-”

“I said save it,” Tony retorts, keeping his eyes ahead, ignoring his rapidly worsening problem as he moves step by step.

“Tony-”

“Don't-”

“Tony!” Steve says, swinging around in front of him to block Tony's way with his arm, hand flat against the wall. “Dammit, Stark, will you just listen to me?”

Tony rolls his eyes.

“You giving me a choice?”

Steve's eyes narrow a little.

“I'm...I came down here to talk to you, I want to talk to you and I...”

Tony waits and Steve looks down at their shoes. At least, he hopes it's his shoes Steve's looking at. 

“Wow...” Maybe not. “Look, you...uh, you haven't been....yourself lately and J.A.R.V.IS says...uh...”

God, is he this bad at talking to women, too? 

“Spit it out, Captain, I don't have all day.”

And giving orders obviously works because Steve's head snaps up and his jaw locks .

“You haven't been yourself in the past few days and I want to know why,” Steve bites out. “J.A.R.V.I.S says you're not sleeping and I figured maybe I could...” he swallows hard. “Help you.”

“Oh, you don't know the half of it,” Tony spits, regretting it instantly, but if Steve understands the underlying implication then he isn't surprised by it.

“Tell me what I can do,” he says, softly but earnestly. “We're a team, I'm supposed to be team leader, I know nightmares just as well as you do. Tell me how I can help you.”

Tony narrows his eyes, shakes his head.

“You _can't_ help me,” he says, simple as that. “You wouldn't know how.”

And he ducks under Steve's arm, takes two steps, and then he's being hauled backwards again, wrenched around and pinned to the wall instead of the floor but the feeling's the same.

“Ow, what in-”

A wave of pleasure sweeps Tony's legs out from under him and he's moaning wantonly before he has a chance to stop himself, hips shuddering forward against Steve's hand where he's decided to grip Tony hard through his jeans and Tony grabs at him, at his arm to hold on for an anchor. 

And Steve kisses him, one hand still gripping Tony's wrist, the other stroking through his jeans, and Steve's grip turns softer, less of a grip and more of a stroke. Tony tries a word but it comes out noise and his free hand is on Steve's upper arm, desperately trying to keep himself where he is, keep them both where they are. 

It's not a gentle kiss, not at all – it's hard and rough and Steve's bending down to reach him. And when Steve pulls away just as violently as he surged forward, Tony can barely breathe. Half of it's shock, obviously. Being yanked out of a dramatic exit and groped and kissed within an inch of his life would be a shock coming from anyone, let alone _Steve,_ but the other half is complete disbelief. 

He _knows_ he's awake this time and Steve's face is inches from his own, breath warm on Tony's skin, skin warm under Tony's hand where his fingers still bite into Steve's bicep. 

“I wouldn't know how?” Steve says, and his voice is low and rough as he lifts his hand away and eases his hips forwards instead, a sinuous, graceful flex of bone and muscle from a man who's completely in control, and it pushes their hips together, settles Steve's in the cradle of his own and they're still dressed, how can it feel so much like sex? 

“Oh, God,” Tony whispers – he was wrong, Steve knows how all right, holding Tony's hips so Tony has no control.

“Want me to put your money where my mouth is, Mr Stark?” he says, voice low and smooth and Tony moans at him as a full body shudder ripples through him, tipping his head back to moan some more. 

“ _Unh,_ you're so sexy-” he winces, but that's as far as he gets.

Steve's hips are moving minutely, so that Tony's acutely aware of their position, but he sinks his teeth into Tony's neck halfway through the sentence to cut him off. It's an edge of pain to a whole lot of pleasure and it's just what he wants – he tries to spread his legs but they're standing up and he can't, so he'll have to trust Steve. 

It's an awkward dance of friction and pressure – Steve is tall and Tony's on his toes, which means that if either of them lose concentration, the bits of Tony currently benefiting from Steve's small thrusts could end up crushed instead and wow would that not be good at all – but Steve's hands are warm and his mouth is hot and wet and he's just as hard in his trousers as Tony, and feels pretty substantial, too.

“Sex,” Tony gasps, saving him from having to construct a sentence. 

And Steve rumbles against his ear. “Obviously,” he says. 

Tony nods as Steve sucks marks into the skin on his throat, hands curling in Steve's hair to pull him closer. “That's it,” he gasps, and Steve has to be aware, has to _know_ how good this is but how- “Where did you learn-” Tony manages, and Steve squeezes between his legs again.

If they don't get undressed soon, Tony might actually cry.

“It's all I think about,” Steve answers, and he still sounds calm and collected _like a soldier on parade_ and something twists in Tony's gut, something warm and sweet and _strong-_

“You think about me?” 

“Every morning in the shower, every night in bed,” Steve answers, and Tony bites his lip to keep himself from whining.

He grabs the back of Steve's head and yanks him back, kissing first this time, and Steve's shock is gone in an instant.

It's still a hard kiss but it's better this time, _more_ this time, and Steve's hips push against his own so high Tony ends up on the toes of one foot, his other foot dangling in mid air. And he moans, he knows he moans, but Steve swallows it and tilts his head just enough that Tony can get a better angle on the kiss, make it deeper. 

“Christ, we're stupid,” he breathes when Steve pulls away to scatter kisses over Tony's neck. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, and there's no way they're stopping this time.

He's not dreaming now, although he feels like he ought to be, and there's no way they're stopping before he gets what he wants this time., he's definitely going to watch Steve all the way to the end this time. No interruptions. 

“Bed,” says, and they're kissing again and _why_ haven't they done this sooner? “Sex. Now.”

“Your bed?” Steve asks, hand stroking up Tony's side and it's warm even through the cotton even as they're kissing again.

“Yeah, mine's closer,” Tony says.

Steve pulls back, lets Tony put his weight on his own two feet and if Tony thought walking was difficult _before,_ the first two steps he takes with Steve's hand in his are impossible. But then he remembers.

“Wait,” he says, stopping, and Steve stops too. “It...it doesn't have any sheets.”

Steve just runs his tongue over his teeth.

“Doesn't need to,” he says, setting off again with Tony in tow. “We're not going to be sleeping on it.”


End file.
